


The Best Laid Plan

by NightsofTamara



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5095994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightsofTamara/pseuds/NightsofTamara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Robin hadn't been able to return Marian's necklace in time? What will Guy of Gisbourne do when he stands at the crossroads?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Laid Plan

**Author's Note:**

> One-sided Guy/Marian… sort of. The idea for this story came to me after watching episode 7 and wondering what would have happened if Robin hadn't been able to return the necklace to Marian in time. Contains elements of non-con but nothing graphic. Originally posted in Dec 2007.

"Do you still not have the courage to admit the truth?"

Gisbourne's question hung in the air between them. He held his breath, caught between fear at hearing the words from her own mouth and a desperate need to know the truth. The loss of his sergeant had taught him that much. If she did not admit it, did not confess her sins, he would always have doubts in the back of his mind. He would still treat her as he had planned, but it would taint his enjoyment of it. He wanted to know everything.

"The truth?" She walked to the window and stood staring out of it, her pale hand resting lightly on the sill. "The truth is this country is being choked to death. The truth is honest people are being forced to lie, and cheat, and steal…." He was tempted to interrupt her, tell her he did not have the patience for her lectures today, but he held his tongue.

"And if you really want to know the truth then you should know that I…." She paused, as if waiting for someone to save her. "I have been helping Robin."

He had slumped down onto the edge of her bed while awaiting her confession, and he found himself studying the bedspread. It was slate blue, the embroidery forming a pattern of vines and leaves. Very pretty. If Marian had agreed to marry him, he would have made sure she had such nice possessions. It was hard to believe that only this morning he had dared to hope for such a thing. Gisbourne straightened and walked over to where she stood at the window. He grasped her shoulders firmly and was gratified to see her flinch.

"Tell me, Marian," he said lightly, as if they were discussing the weather. "Did you and Hood laugh at me after you told him all my secrets? Have a good joke at my expense?" She said nothing and he squeezed her arms more tightly with his fingers. Hard enough to bruise, he judged.

"So reserved," he scolded her. "And you were always so talkative before. Always interested in what I was doing for the Sheriff, weren't you?" She bit her lower lip, but still made no sound. "No matter. Plenty of time for talking... later." He roughly tugged her toward the door. "Come. Vasey will be expecting you."

Edward tried to stop him. Gisbourne could have handled him easily, and would have taken great satisfaction in it, as he had when he'd backhanded the old fool earlier. Edward had known perfectly well that Gisbourne wished to marry Marian, and all it would have taken was a bit of 'encouragement' on Edward's part for such an arrangement to come about. The Church could claim all they wanted that no bride would be made to marry unwillingly; everyone knew that it was fathers who made these decisions. That was the way of the world. But noble, foolish Edward wouldn't pressure his dear daughter into marriage, even to a man who would love her and provide for her. Protect her.

Well. What had it gotten him? A traitorous daughter who was to be hanged, which would perhaps be a mercy once Gisbourne had finished with her. Any other day and he would have dealt with Edward himself, but there was always the chance that Marian would escape if he released her for even a moment. He motioned to the two guards he had brought with him, and they hurried into the Hall to restrain Marian's raging father.

"Please don't hurt him."

Gisbourne looked down. "What?" he asked savagely.

Marian's face was pale, and she had a dazed look in her eyes, like someone who had just had a terrible fright. As if any of this should be a surprise to her. "Please don't hurt him," she repeated quietly. "He knew nothing of this. He is blameless."

Gisbourne stared down at her for a moment longer, then continued dragging her away from the Hall by her arms. When they reached the place where he had tied his horse he removed a length of rope that he had attached to his saddle earlier and tightly bound her wrists. She did not resist. When he had finished he hesitated, holding the end of the rope in his hand. He had not considered how he would get her from Knighton to Nottingham Town. He could tie her to the saddle and force her to walk behind his horse, as he had done when Hood had surrendered at Locksley, but somehow the idea did not appeal to him. He told himself it was because she would walk too slowly and he did not want to be delayed.

Instead he lifted her up onto his horse and swung into the saddle behind her, then turned and rode toward town.

Marian sat on the floor of the cell, her back pressed up against the cold stone wall and her face leaning against her arms. Three days she had been here, three miserable, lonely days. She had been alone the entire time, with not even the spectres of Gisbourne or Vasey to harry her. While that was a relief, she missed her father and worried what his absence might mean. The guards that Gisbourne had sent to deal with her father had caught up with them on the road leading to town, but there had been no talk of what had happened back at Knighton, and she had not dared ask.

She buried her face deeper in her arms. What had happened to her? She had been taught how to defend herself from a young age at her father's request, but it seemed she had been deserted by her training once Gisbourne had bullied the truth out of her. True, she was likely no match for him, and he had brought his men with him, but she still should have tried. Perhaps she could have broken free. They would have chased her, and left her father alone. Her father...

Marian sat up and wiped fresh tears from her eyes. She had heard of people crying so much that they ran out of tears, but it seemed she had not reached that point even after three days of misery. She had not expected to be thrown in the dungeon. Even if she was to be hanged - which seemed certain - as a noblewoman she should have been confined in one of the secure rooms in the lower hall. Instead Gisbourne had roughly shoved her into this cell full of stale straw and weeping walls upon their arrival at the castle. At first she had been ashamed of her resentment. The common people had to endure these rough quarters, and was she any better than them? Now she no longer cared, and that frightened her.

She heard distant footsteps echoing through the dungeons, and instinctively fought against the wild hope that it was Robin coming to rescue her. She had already learned which of the muttering voices she heard belonged to her fellow prisoners rather than the guards and her heart leapt every time she heard a new voice. Perhaps that was why she froze back at Knighton: she had expected Robin to save her. It was his doing that she had been discovered, after all, and he had promised to recover the necklace. She had seen him save Much, seen him save his peasants, seen him save so many others. Marian had grown to depend on him when she had once trusted only herself, and when he did not come in time for her she had fallen all to pieces. How foolish.

The footsteps came closer now, two sets, and Marian rose unsteadily to her feet. If it was Gisbourne and Vasey come to torment her, they would not find her cowering on the floor like a whipped dog. But the face that appeared on the other side of the narrow, barred window belonged to the jailer, the one that brought her meals and leered at her. He stepped forward to unlock the door to the cell, frowning as he did so, as if some great prize had been denied him. He held the door open and Marian saw the person who accompanied him was a young serving girl. She stepped into the cell hesitantly. "Please come with me, Lady," she said in a quiet voice.

Marian stepped forward without a thought as to where they might be going. She might be marching straight to the scaffold for all she cared, so long as she didn't have to spend another minute in that cell. The jailer gave her a broad grin as she followed the serving girl out of the cell and she looked away quickly. He slunk along in their wake until they reached the door to the dungeon, where they were met by two guards who bound her wrists once again. They wore the black and yellow Gisbourne colours, and Marian felt a tremor of fear run through her. One of them motioned curtly up the hall, stepping aside to let her and the servant pass before falling in closely behind them.

Marian licked her dry lips nervously. "Where are we going?" she asked.

The girl hesitated. "You are to bathe and change clothes," she said at last.

_Why?_ was the question that hovered on Marian's lips, but she did not speak it. It was unlikely that a servant would be told anything of import in this place, and even if she did know Marian was not sure she truly wanted an answer to her question. Likely the Sheriff wished to speak to her. His aversion to the scent of unwashed peasants was well known, so perhaps he wanted her made presentable before he passed judgment on her. Perhaps she was even to have a trial, before the other nobles. Most would not wish to see her mistreated, even if they knew her to be guilty. It would be worth Vasey's trouble to present even the semblance of fairness and humanity.

They reached the bathing room and the guards untied her before taking up their positions on either side of the door. The servant ushered Marian inside and shut the door. The tub was already filled, and despite her unease she found it looked inviting. The servant girl made to help Marian undress.

"What is your name?" she asked the girl.

"Willa," she answered shyly. She set Marian's stained and rumpled dress aside and helped her into the bathtub. Marian sank down gratefully into the water, feeling it soothe her aching muscles. Three days and nights in the cramped cell with only a thin pallet on which to sleep had taken their toll. She sat still as Willa washed her hair, wishing she could somehow delay the inevitable confrontation with the Sheriff. When she finally emerged from the tub Willa brought out a new shift as well as a dress for her to wear. It was simple yet flattering, in a shade of eggshell blue with embroidery at the neck and cuffs - something she might have selected for herself. "Who chose this dress?" she asked as Willa did up the laces.

Willa hesitated yet again. "I do not know, my Lady," she answered as she finished her tying. Marian had grown familiar enough with dissembling over these past years to recognize a lie when she heard one, but she chose not to pursue it. She sat quietly as Willa brushed her hair and braided it carefully, pinning part of it up while leaving the rest to flow freely about her shoulders. "Thank you," she said to Willa as she finished, sensing that her respite was nearly at an end. "You've been very kind to me."

Willa smiled and went to the door. Marian sighed and stepped into the hall, already holding out her wrists to be bound again. She glanced over her shoulder as the guards led her away, and saw a flash of sympathy in Willa's eyes before she shut the door to the chamber. Marian turned away, chilled.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, trying in vain to keep the fear from her voice. Neither guard replied, but she caught the look that passed between them. They reached the end of the hall and the guards pulled her to the left, away from the council chamber. When she had been a girl her father's advisors had their quarters in this wing, but now she was unfamiliar with it.

The guards stopped in front of a heavy oak door, and one knocked loudly with a gauntleted fist. Instantly she heard footsteps crossing the floor, as if someone had been waiting for them to arrive.

The door opened, and Marian found herself looking up at the stony face of Sir Guy of Gisbourne.

Gisbourne shut the door behind Marian. He moved closer to her, expecting her to take a step back. She stood her ground, staring at him with defiance in her eyes. He took another step forward. Still she did not move. He grasped her chin, forcing her head back so that her eyes would meet his fully. He had planned to hit her as soon as she had been brought to his room. He would wager any amount of money that Marian had never been struck in her life, and it would shock her beyond anything else he could do to her. It would show her that he would no longer dance to her tune. But now, looking at her, he was not so sure. Gisbourne frowned, unable to pinpoint why his careful plans no longer suited. Perhaps later.

"Sir Guy," she said calmly, his fingers still digging into her jaw bones. "Where is my father?"

He grasped her arms and moved her around so that he was between her and the door. "Under arrest at Knighton. Where else would he be?"

"Did your men harm him?"

"Of course not." Her face softened with relief. "I am only concerned with punishing traitors." Her features tightened again at the word 'punish'. He gestured at his bed, which stood behind her. "Sit down." She didn't move, so he gave her a firm shove. She stumbled backwards, the backs of her knees hitting the bed and causing her to tumble onto it in a heap.

She sat up carefully, hindered by her bound arms. "Why have you brought me here?"

"Your little confession when I arrested you is not enough. I want to know every conversation you had with Hood, every piece of information you gave him. I want to know where you met with him and how he's able to get around Nottingham undetected." He sat down beside her on the bed, close enough that his leg touched hers. She attempted to squirm away from him but he slipped one arm around her, holding her in place. He knew full well that Marian seemed uncomfortable whenever he came close to her, but what had caused him endless frustration while he had been trying desperately to court her now gave him a perverse sense of pleasure.

"What's the use?" she said bitterly, still struggling to escape his grasp. "You said yourself that I'm already dead. Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because, Marian," he said in a deceptively mild voice. "You can die mercifully, or I can wring every last drop of life from you. Your choice."

She paled. "You would have me tortured?" His answering smile was vicious. She looked away.

When he had arrested her he'd said that Vasey was expecting her, but that was not quite the truth. Vasey had, in fact, allowed Gisbourne to carry out the punishment of his choosing. He had thought a great deal about what he would do while riding to Knighton that day, and while waiting for her to return home. He should have put his plan into action as soon as he'd brought her to the castle, while he'd still been determined on it. But he'd let her sit in the dungeon for three days instead. Three days for doubt to creep into his heart. Perhaps Hood had coerced her into giving up information. Perhaps he hadn't imagined every smile and encouraging glance she had given him.

Perhaps he didn't have the nerve to harm her.

The dungeon had been a mistake. He didn't know what he'd been thinking, but done was done. Gisbourne pushed his doubts aside. "First question: How long have you been spying for Hood?"

Her eyes were downcast. "Since he returned from the Holy Land."

He turned this over in his mind. "I would have thought you would hate Hood, after he jilted you to fight the Turk."

"I did, but I hated the Sheriff more."

"And me?" She was silent, still unwilling to meet his gaze. "I will have the truth of this, Marian," he threatened in a low voice.

"I hate the things you do for the Sheriff," she said carefully. He knew there must be more to it than that, but he had plenty of time to question her further. Later.

"Where did you meet him?" he asked next.

"In town, mostly," she said. He pushed for details. Where exactly did she meet him, and at what time of day? Did they have signals? Did he bring his men with him, or did he come alone? Who initiated these meetings? How did he disguise himself when in town?

He could scarcely believe it when Marian told him that Robin Hood and his men routinely came into town wearing only long cloaks to disguise themselves, with the hoods drawn up to conceal their faces. "They are very careful to not be seen," she said. A pause. "The peasants are unlikely to turn him in, even for a reward. He is their salvation."

"You said you mostly met him in town," he noted, trying to ignore the approval in her voice and how it made him feel. "Did you also meet him in the forest?"

"Sometimes." Away from prying eyes, and all that. Something else for them to discuss.

"What about at Knighton? Did he come there?"

"...Sometimes."

"So Edward knew you were helping Hood, after all." Her continued lies stung him. Even after she'd confessed, she had misled him again to save her father.

She shook her head emphatically. "No! Robin was always careful to stay out of sight. My father didn't approve."

"Do not lie to me!" he growled.

"I'm not – "

" _Enough_!" He pushed her down onto her back on the bed, holding her by the shoulders. Vasey preferred his instruments of torture, but Gisbourne had chosen a different method to get the information he sought. Marian had betrayed him personally, and he would deal with it personally.

She was very still, her eyes wide. Perhaps it was beginning to sink in, that this was truly happening and that neither Robin nor her father could save her. He placed his hands on either side of her throat, his thumbs meeting in the centre, beneath her chin. "How much does Edward know?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing," she insisted. "I've already told you that."

He began to press down with his thumbs into her throat, just enough to hurt. "Tell me," he ordered.

"I've told you everything," she said, her eyes flashing with anger and her voice thick from the pressure on her throat. "I don't know what you want me to say!"

He remained silent, squeezing harder, pleased that he had not lost his nerve. Soon Marian was having trouble breathing, her gasps sounding ragged. She pushed against him with her bound arms and her legs but was unable to loosen his hold on her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his fingertips, growing more rapid with each second. Her struggles became frantic, but he scarcely felt her blows.

Gisbourne released her throat and placed his hands one to either side of her head. She gasped for air, blinking tears from her eyes. He watched her for a moment as she struggled to catch her breath. It would take more than that to make her betray her father, he knew. He would have to be more brutal. He quickly considered his options for making her talk, going over all the ways he had gleefully imagined getting his revenge upon her. Not one of them seemed to suit, and he found himself becoming distracted by her. Marian's face was flushed and tear-stained, and though he was no longer choking her she was still breathing heavily through her parted lips.

Her lips. So many times he'd wanted to kiss her, and now why shouldn't he? He was no longer obliged to treat her as a lady now that she had been condemned to death. Vasey came to mind unbidden, watching as Marian had her hair shorn in front of the crowd. _Wasted beauty_ , he had murmured to Gisbourne, his eyes avid as that of his hawks swooping in for the kill.

Gisbourne leaned forward and pressed his lips firmly to hers, ignoring her muffled protests and attempts to turn her head away. This had never precisely been a part of the plan but had hovered around the edges of his awareness as he plotted, tantalizing yet resisting all attempts at definition. There was never any doubt in his mind that it would come to this eventually.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue past her lips and into her mouth to taste her before abruptly pulling away. Marian drew a shuddering breath. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"What do you think?" He grasped her hips and dragged her further up the bed, so that she lay flat on her back. "Why do you think I went to the trouble of having you made presentable? I won't have you in my bed stinking of the cells."

She fought then, which surprised him. He thought that much of the fight would have gone out of her by now. He arms were still bound, which hindered her attempts to scratch and hit him, but she managed to connect a solid kick to his thigh before he succeeded in pinning her to the bed. He brushed his lips across her neck, delighting in her rage and fear and tears.

Or did he? Her weeping and pleading made him feel ill, if he was honest with himself. Even if he hadn't been sure of what he expected, he knew that this was a far cry from it. He propped himself up on one elbow, studying her intently as if the answer to his dilemma could be found in the contours of her face. Marian was still again, whether from fear or because she somehow sensed the battle that raged within him he did not know.

All of his careful preparations were for naught. All of his best-laid plans had turned to ash. Even so, he must act, one way or another. Gisbourne saw himself standing at a crossroads, two roads stretching out before him. He knew where one road led. Momentary pleasure and the fleeting satisfaction of harsh justice followed by blackness and damnation, with no way out of it. The bitter fruits of sweet revenge. As for the other road….

"Marian." He said her name softly, almost gently. He understood now why he had left her in the dungeon for three days. It was to make her yearn for the comfort of a warm fire and a good meal, the security of a solid house and the title to back it up. It was to make her think of what could have been. What could still be. "There is another way to end this."

"How?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"You must prove your loyalty," he said, scarcely believing this new possibility that lay open to him. "Marry me. The Sheriff will not move against you if you are my wife."

She parted her lips as if to speak, then hesitated. He found himself holding his breath waiting for her response. If she refused despite the fate she must know awaited her he would have no choice but to take the dark road. But if she agreed to be his, all the hopes of love and family she had dashed to pieces could be made whole again.

She had once said she wished to learn obedience. He would teach her that, as well as loyalty and love. He would be merciful and his sins would be lessened, even washed away. He could choose to be a better man.

Marian lifted her eyes to meet his. "Yes," she whispered, and the path stretched out before him, its end lost behind the mists.

Marian sat before the fire, wrapped in a blanket with her feet tucked beneath her. She watched the flickering flames silently, lost in her own thoughts. Almost a full day had passed since her betrothal and she was no closer to believing it than the instant she had accepted.

She heard a sound behind her, at the window. A moment later the shutters creaked as they were eased open.

"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning.

"I wasn't seen," Robin assured her as he stepped off of the sill onto the floor. She heard the sound of dripping water and looked over her shoulder at him, noticing that his clothes were wet. She had been so lost in thought she hadn't heard the rain begin.

"You can't be sure of that," she argued. "Vasey and Gisbourne have eyes everywhere, now more than ever."

He gave her a cocky grin. "They haven't been able to catch me yet, and I very much doubt they'll be out in this weather. I think somebody told them that spies melt in the rain - but I'm not here to discuss their shortcomings. What I want to know is how you managed to get yourself released."

So she told him. Most of it, anyway. She didn't describe how Gisbourne had looked at her after she'd agreed to marry him, a mixture of triumph and relief written across his face. "Hood tricked you into helping him," he'd said with finality. "You are loyal to the Sheriff. And to me." She'd had no choice but to agree to that, as well.

She didn't tell him of how Gisbourne had insisted on escorting her to one of the guest rooms in the castle, offering her his arm as if nothing untoward had happened. When they reached her door he leaned over and kissed her cheek, then seemed to reconsider and kissed her lips. Once he released her he bade her goodnight. "You should keep the dress," he added absently. "It suits you."

And of course she couldn't tell him of how she had lain awake through most of the night; recalling Gisbourne's hands on her body and his lips kissing hers – if such a brutal mockery could be called a kiss. She had saved herself, but only for a time; for what he hadn't taken by force would eventually be his by right.

Even with all she left out the story still took some time to tell, and when she had finished Robin slumped against the wall of her bedchamber. "I got the necklace back," he said wearily, running a hand through his hair. "I did. I came as fast as I could, but your father said Gisbourne had already taken you away and – "

"I know!" Marian interrupted sharply. "I know," she repeated more softly, seeing the expression on his face.

"I wouldn't have let them hang you," Robin assured her, his blue eyes earnest. "I would have saved you, like Will and Allan. You know that, don't you?" She nodded, willing her doubts away. "But agreeing to marry Gisbourne… very clever."

"It wasn't clever," she responded angrily. "I had no choice."

"Marriage or hanging," Robin mused. "Gisbourne does have a way with the ladies, doesn't he?" He straightened. "Doesn't matter. You won't have to go through with it."

"Do you have a plan?"

Robin flashed her a winning smile. "Not yet," he said blithely, as if this was just another scrape that he had to work his way out of. As if they'd all sit around the campfire later, reminiscing. _Remember the time that Marian almost had to marry Gisbourne?_ someone would say, and they'd all have a good laugh before the conversation would turn to plotting their next escapade.

Marian looked away. "I wish you would take this more seriously."

He stepped closer and took her hand. "Believe me, there's nothing more serious than being betrothed to Gisbourne," he said, still smiling.

She allowed herself a brief smile at his tone. "It's not funny."

His face became serious once more. "No, it isn't funny, not at all. It's one more thing to stand against Gisbourne when the reckoning comes. When the king returns."

"If the king returns," Marian said sadly. Robin squeezed her hand lightly and laughed, his boyish humor returning in an instant.

"Oh ye of little faith," he teased. "Next you'll be saying you don't think I can break off your betrothal. Well, prepare to be astounded!"

Once he had gone, slipping back out through the window trailing assurances behind him, Marian settled in her chair and regarded the fire once more. It had burned down while she had been talking to Robin, the shadows lengthening unnoticed along the walls. She shivered and rose to add another log to the fire. She wanted the room bright when she went to sleep. Bright enough to banish the doubts that lurked within her mind, waiting to emerge once she'd closed her eyes.

But of course no pitiful fire was enough. _I have left the dungeon_ , she thought as sleep claimed her. _But my chains are unbroken._ _And, God help me, I fear that not even Robin can save me…_


End file.
